Becoming a Spy for Hope

Several summers ago, my daughter left her favorite pair of shoes near the shoreline and high tide had carried them away.

To help her work through her sadness, we began to imagine a new life for the shoes: as a shell for a hermit crab, as an unexpected catch for a lobsterman. We imagined one day, years from now, walking along the shore and finding her tie-dyed Crocs and laughing that they had finally come home.

Two days later, we found the shoes. Washed up on the beach, covered in seaweed. Her brother and I cheered. She shrugged. After a few minutes, she whispered.

“I’m kind of sad we found them. I liked the stories more than the shoes.”

“I’m kind of sad we found them. I liked the stories more than the shoes.”

I like stories more than the shoes, too. In Shaped by Stories: The Ethical Power of Narratives, Marshall Gregory writes: “For human beings, the pull of stories is primal. What oxygen is to the body, stories are to our emotions and imagination.”

Tell the Story of Hope

I’m not a fiction writer. I mostly write about parenting and child development — and a whole lot about awe and wonder. But all the same, I keep this yellow sticky note beside my desk: Tell the story of HOPE.

Many years after adopting this phrase as my professional mantra — I suddenly realized why these words were lodged in me, where I had heard them before.

Let me back up. As a kid, one of my favorite authors was Katherine Paterson: Jacob I Have Loved, Bridge to Terebithia, Great Gilly Hopkins. More. Her books were part of my emotional education.

When I was in college, I read Paterson’s masterful book, A Sense of Wonder: On Reading and Writing for Children. The book is out of print now, but luckily I transcribed these words in my college notebooks from 20 years ago. And I recently dug them out again.

People ask me why I write for children. I don’t write for children, I say, I write for myself . . .

But it’s not true that I simply write for myself. I do write for children. For my own four children and for others who are faced with the question of whether they dare to become adult, responsible for their own lives and their lives of others.

They remind me of the Biblical children of Israel, trembling on the bank of the Jordan. You’ll remember that Moses sent spies ahead, who came back to tell of the richness of the land. But ten of the spies advised the Israelites to turn back. The cities are fortified, they said, and the people are giants. It would be better to return to slavery in Egypt or to wander aimlessly in the desert.

I want to because a spy like Joshua and Caleb. I have crossed the river and tangled with a few giants, but I want to go back and say to those who are hesitating: “Don’t be afraid to cross over. The promised land is worth possessing, and we are not alone.”

I want to be a spy for hope.

Spying for Hope

One of the best gifts we can give kids is perspective — because perspective can fuel hope.

Perspective how far they’ve come and where they might go.

Reminders that no feeling lasts forever. No challenge is unending. That while we can’t guarantee how or when things will change, they will change. Life is change.

Perspective on the long arc of history. Daily anecdotes of good people doing small, good things in this messy world.

Stories from your childhood. Stories from their childhood. Stories of washed-up shoes and dried-up tears.

If we fill kids up with stories, we might just fill ourselves up with determined hope.

Yours,

Deborah

P.S.

In preparation for the release of my book “Raising Awe-Seekers,” I’m keeping a wonder journal: One tiny entry each day about something that caught my attention, gave me goosebumps, brought tears to my eyes, or made me say, “Wow.”

365 Days of Wonder: Week 5

Day 29:

Raccoon paw prints in a dusting of snow 🐾

Day 30:

So a teenage boy yells at his mom about making him wear dorky clothes and accuses her of loving his brother more. The catch? It's a Cuniform letter written 4000+ years ago. This video from the Yale Peobody Museum is so cool!

Day 31:

The 11yo had an unexpected tooth extraction …. which was unexpectedly painful. And yet absolute wonderment and glee on his face when he saw the post-op instructions: “ice cream and milkshakes help as well.” Banana splits for dinner!

Day 32:

This morning I turned off the news and turned on the sewing machine and made a thing.

Day 33:

I always pick up heart-shaped rocks when I find them, and so sometimes randomly find them in pockets of hoodies. So having this collection from how up in my feed felt like a cosmic hug.

Day 34:

While on a morning walk, I got a text from a friend. She had woken up to the sound of a neighbor shoveling her driveway -- a reminder, she wrote, that there are "good people everywhere." And it made me smile. And now it might make you smile? Ripples . . .

Day 35:

The best part of my day was my daughter's face when she got in the car and saw a favorite treat on the seat. I figured she might need something after a long day of school and before a dress rehearsal. But the way her face lit up...